


We Could Go All the Way

by SoniaVice



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Montreal Canadiens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoniaVice/pseuds/SoniaVice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both new guys more or less, and they've been on a line together for a couple of games, but Jacob doesn't really know Devante yet.  He wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Could Go All the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Set in that giddy time just after the trade deadline when de la Rose had been called up and Therrien hadn't yet decided Smith-Pelly needed an all expenses paid tour of the dog house.

The place was dark and loud, crowded. It smelled of bodies in motion and alcohol in glasses, and it was so exciting. Jacob laughed at himself for being so into it, so happy. He knew he was being young and earnest, and he didn't care. He was in Montréal, in a bar with his team. His team was the fucking Canadiens. They were going to go all the way. And he was making it. He was pretty sure he was making it.

He laughed some more and turned to Devante and watched him. He had discovered something, sitting in the bar on this wonderful night—you had to watch Devante. You had to watch his eyes. 

His eyes looked flat and bored most of the time while Jacob studied him, trying to decide the exact colour of his bored and serious eyes. Brown so dark, it was almost black, like the sea at night if the light was right, yellow from a sliver of moon touching the water, making it not blue like it was in the day but a dark silky brown. 

Jacob's scrutiny paid off. Devante's eyes warmed up, like a fire that burned so low, you didn't think there was anything left, but if you stirred it just right it would flare up. Jacob liked to stir it up. He was a little shy about dancing or meeting people, so he stayed huddled with his team at the table. So had Devante, and Jacob had learned how to stir up the flames. 

Devante smiled with his mouth and Jacob leaned in closer, so he could hear what he was going to say. 

"You're having fun?" Devante said.

"Yeah, of course! This is so—I don't even believe it's real."

"Uh huh." Devante looked at him, tilted his head down, and he was amused if you knew how to see it. 

"I know for you it's all boring. Montréal, what's that after California, but I was in Hamilton. Hamilton—you have no idea."

Devante laughed, which was perfect, he looked so good when he laughed and it sounded so warm, like a sound Jacob wanted to hear again. "I think I have an idea."

"Oh," Jacob furrowed his brow. "Is it—have you been there?" Devante hadn't ever been on their AHL team, he was sure of it.

"It's pretty close to where I'm from."

"Oh! Oh, sorry, I don't know this country so well yet. And now suddenly everyone speaks French, it's not fair."

"No? Don't you have that in Sweden?"

"Sudden Frenchness? No. Okay, but there's sudden Finnishness, which is maybe harder, but that's what English is for, didn't anyone tell these guys here that English fixes this not understanding stuff?"

Devante laughed at him a lot, which was not as good as laughing because he was delighted, but it was still okay. 

"I don't think you should tell them that, Jake." Devante was very serious, like he was giving him very good advice. 

Jacob wanted his advice, all of it, everything he'd learned in his years—years!—in the NHL. He leaned in closer, turned around and hitched up on the seat of the booth and let his knee rest on Devante's leg. He scooted a little closer so they could talk, and he said, "Do you think we'll stay on a line together?"

Devante smiled again, his upside down wave of warmth, first eyes and then lips until it was his whole face. Jacob liked his lips. They were soft looking. Pink—just a little. Not like his, so thin and almost red. He blushed so easy, he was flushed from the heat of the bar. the alcohol, and he knew he looked pink. Rosy. Everyone here had always called him Rosy because of his name and because he flushed so dark. Pink cheeks. Not Devante. He called him Jake, and it was awesome. 

"I think you never know what you're gonna get in this game," Devante said, and Jacob nodded like that was profound. 

He knew it wasn't. But he was in that sort of a mood. He wanted to have a revelation. He wanted every word to be deep. "Sometimes you get really good things, Devante."

"Yeah, okay, sometimes you do." Devante sat up a little, and turned in to look straight at him. He had a scruffy beard that faded away to soft smooth skin, not a straight clean-shaven line, it was more like the seashore, meandering, full of secret places. 

Jacob wanted to touch it really bad, feel the soft skin at the edge. He wanted Devante to touch _him_ even more. He thought maybe if he put his hand on Devante's leg, that would tell him he could touch back if he wanted. He had to lean in, and he couldn't really lay his palm against denim without it looking like he was doing it on purpose, but this was Devante, and he smiled with his eyes first, so Jacob would know if it was okay.

Devante looked down at his hand but not too soon; Jacob had seen it was okay, and when he looked up, it was warmer in the bar. "My mother warned me about boys like you," Devante said.

"She did?" Jacob said, almost shocked for real. 

"Yeah," Devante smiled, soft and fond, "when I was first in hockey, there was this kid I was really tight with, you know how that is, when you first find someone who loves it like you do?" Jacob nodded. He knew how that was very much. "This kid, he was a little blond boy. and Mom used to tell me to watch out for the cute little blond ones. She said they always break your heart."

"No? Did he? The boy?" Jacob asked, hoping the answer was yes. He didn't want to find out there was a pretty blond boyfriend back home near Hamilton.

"Nah, not really. We ended up on different teams in junior and I got in a fight with him—kind of just shoving, you know—but I'd found other guys by then who loved it like I did."

"Oh, that's good," Jacob said, relieved he didn't have a rival or a tragic past to overcome. "Your mom, is that the Smith part?"

Devante grinned at him, and ducked his head a little. Jacob leaned in closer, and Devante said, "Yeah, she likes to joke that we need to give that name some prominence, make sure everybody knows it." Jacob nodded like that was a good thing, but Devante laughed at him again. "It's like the most common name in English, Jake."

"Oh," Jacob said, getting the joke, and ducking his head. He'd be all flushed, and he didn't want Devante to laugh at that too. 

He did something way worse than laughing, he put his hand on Jake's face and titled his head back so they were eye to eye again. He must have been able to _feel_ how hot he was, and Jacob flushed hotter and stared at Devante. That wasn't a smile in his eyes. "Jake," he said, serious, and Jacob leaned in to hear every scrap of sound from his lips over the noise in the bar, "are you flirting with me?"

"I could be." Jacob tried to play it cool, but he couldn't keep from grinning big and kind of silly. 

"You could be?" 

"If you want me to be," Jacob said. If Devante didn't want him to be—he didn't want to think about that, he wanted to go back to before when they were just doing it. 

"I get to decide?"

Jacob nodded vigorously because that was important, very, very important. "You get to decide."

"Okay."

Jacob stopped; he was confused, and he wasn't drunk, not really, just happy. As much from the whole atmosphere of the place than from anything else. "Okay? Is that your answer?"

"Okay, you can be flirting, Jake." Devante looked away and shook his head a little, like Devante thought maybe Jacob was a little foolish. 

It hurt a little, but he could get over this little setback, because Devante wanted him to flirt, and he could so do that. He moved his hand a little, just enough to remind Devante it was there, and he leaned back in close again and said, "What else can I do?" He knew he didn't really have a seductive look. He was too _rosy_ for that, too soft looking. But he could try to look enticing. 

"What do you want to do?" Devante asked him, and he laid his hand on top of Jacob's, and Jacob hissed in surprise at how warm it felt, how good it felt to touch skin, not the cloth over his leg. Devante laughed at him, it came on so fast that his eyes lagged behind in warming up. But they did, and Jacob looked at him for too long for anything but what they were doing. 

"I would kiss you if we were alone," Jacob said.

Devante was all stirred up hot now, his eyes never cooled back down at all, and he leaned his head back on the leather of the seat and looked at Jacob from the small distance he'd created. "That all you want?"

"No." Jacob shook his head. "No, I want many things."

"We can go back to the hotel."

"We can. We should."

Devante looked like he wasn't all the way convinced; he wanted to, that was obvious; he squeezed Jacob's hand but stayed where he was, like he was waiting for something. Jacob didn't know what it was. Devante wasn't so very much older than him, just a little, but maybe he thought Jacob was too much of a rookie. 

He didn't want to tell him about the boys he'd known back in Sweden and a couple of times in Hamilton. He didn't think it would be good to tell him about what he'd done the last night in Toronto for the junior tournament, when they'd lost and they'd all felt so alone. "I really want to," he said, trying to sound like he knew what that meant. 

"I have to settle up," Devante said, and he moved, suddenly, quickly, his hand moving to get out his wallet, and Jacob fell back away, space opening up between them that Jacob didn't like. 

"Leave the money," Jacob said. He'd tossed some of his own on the table, but Devante shook his head and signalled for their server. He paid their bills, added a tip, and Jacob scooped his money back up and shoved it in his pocket. 

They were finally free to go, and Jacob snuck up close. Standing, he was a little bit taller, not so big, but his shoulders were broad. He could block out anyone else from getting too close, and he imagined he was doing that, keeping him safe, even if Devante would never _need_ him for that. That had been his job in the tournament—so different from the Bulldogs, so very, very different from the Canadiens—he'd been the big one, the guy who was supposed to protect the little guys, open up the ice for them. 

They were close to the hotel so they walked. Devante didn't have gloves, and Jacob teased him, called him a California boy, and he laughed and checked Jacob with his shoulder and told him he had no idea what winter was if he thought it was cold out. Canadians always needed to be tough about it, no gloves, no hat, not until their ears were going to freeze and drop off. He chirped him again about it, calling him a Canadian boy who didn't know enough to put on a hat, and Devante laughed and said, "Now you sound just like my mother. Maybe she would like you. Blond and all."

What Jacob wanted was for Devante to crash into him again. That had felt good. He wasn't sure how to get him to do it. He tried being a brat a little, making jokes and striding out with his slightly longer legs to make him have to work to keep up. 

Devante looked around at the people on the street, the cars. It was snowing a little, just a dust of flakes that stuck in Devante's hair for a second before they vanished. 

Their hotel wasn't anything special, but it was better than the place he'd shared with two guys in Hamilton. And Devante had his own room, so they went there together, and as soon as they were inside the door, had their shoes and their coats off, Devante pushed close and said, "Are you trying to rile me up, Jake?"

Jacob laughed, delighted, because the answer was obvious. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, is it working?"

"I think it is. You were going to kiss me, I think you should get on that."

"Oh, yes," Jacob said, a little nervous. He wanted to, he just felt on the spot a little. He wanted the mood back from the bar, the noise in the background making it feel like they were alone in the crowd of people. It was too quiet in the hotel room. "Um," he said, and he reached up and touched the spot he wanted to touch, the soft ragged edge of beard. Devante's eyes looked wary, so Jacob thought he should show him he meant business. He stepped closer; their bodies were touching almost, and all they needed to do was get their arms, their hands in the game, and then he'd know what to do. "Maybe you should start," he confessed.

Devante slid his hands around Jacob's waist, firm, and certain, and he wanted to rip his shirt out where it was tucked in and yell out, "Skin, touch my skin," but he kept his cool and set his hands on Devante's arms. They were close enough no one had to start it, they just were kissing. His lips were so big, so soft, and Jake loved how it felt, it was like falling into bed when you were exhausted, so perfectly sweet. 

Obviously, Jacob had seen him, had noticed his body—big and powerful in ways Jacob wasn't, maybe would never be, but to feel him, the swell of his muscles under Jacob's hand did things to him. He wanted skin, wanted to have his hands on Devante as much as he wanted the reverse.

"Jake?"

He'd stopped doing anything. He ducked his head again, and Devante leaned in, held him tighter and nudged Jacob's face with his chin. It made him shiver, the beard against his skin, and Devante noticed so he did it again. Devante pressed his advantage and nuzzled under Jacob's chin, and he was almost shaking it felt so good. 

"Skin," he said, finally, got the word out in between the noises Devante was dragging out of him. He was beyond embarrassed now, he was permanently rosy. He might as well show it all. 

"Skin," Devante repeated, stepping back and looking at him, not moving, and Jacob slowly realized maybe he wanted to watch. 

Jacob pulled off his shirt, he didn't know how to make it look sexy, so he just got to it. Devante liked what he saw okay, his eyes showed the right amount of heat. Jacob fiddled with the fly of his jeans and ducked his head so he could look up, trying for something good in the pose. It was obviously a pose, he knew that, but it was all he could do. "Catch up?" he said.

"Oh, sure," Devante said, and Jacob thought he was a little nervous too, which was crazy. Had he looked at himself in the mirror? He pulled off his shirt a little more smooth, a little more like he wanted to be watched while he did it. Jacob tried to file that move away, but his mind was on the skin beneath. 

"You're so—" he didn't know what to say, _how_ to say it. He was so big and strong, powerful, and Jacob was never going to be the muscle on a line with Devante. He'd liked being thought of as the big strong man on his junior team, the guy who'd played real pro hockey, but he liked this too. He couldn't be cool about it, all his cool—not that he had much—was gone. 

He laid his palms on Devante's pecs, and enjoyed how it felt. "You're so warm," he said, and he could see the flush darkening Devante's neck and his pecs to a deeper shade of brown. The beard hid it on his face, which wasn't fair. His nipples were this amazing shade of brown with a tinge of pink, and Jacob wanted to touch, maybe use his mouth. 

Devante had other ideas. He pulled Jacob in close, sliding his hands down over his ass. He had a good ass, he knew that, wasn't vain about it or anything, but he knew he was well built once you got past his skinny middle. Devante kissed him again, moving him into position with little nudges, leaving his hands free to do other things. He liked how it felt, liked how he could go with it, move where he was nudged and it would get him something good.

Meanwhile, Jacob could touch Devante's body all he wanted. It was a dumb thing to think, but that was the truth, he could touch forever, it seemed like. He ran his hands over Devante's shoulders, and around to the back of his neck, everywhere was hard with power, and so soft, his skin was so soft.

They were tight together, kissing and touching, and he could feel Devante, feel his cock hard against him, and he was trying to be cool about that, thought he should be, that he shouldn't act like that was the whole point. Even if it was, which he wasn't sure about. 

"What do you like?" Devante asked him, and then nipped at his lips with his teeth.

Jacob hissed in delight at how that felt, so Devante did it again. He took the time he was given, but he didn't know what to say. What did Devante want him to say? "I'm not very good at talking about it," he said. He wasn't sure how rude the English words he knew were, good for when you were just getting off with a guy, but this wasn't that. Getting off didn't start with flirting like they'd done, or have kisses like they'd had. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to back off though, he wanted Devante to know he was up for it, wanted him. "I want to touch you, see you," he said.

"So naked and the light on?" Devante said, smile cascading down his face. It was a gentle one, not too teasing. He tugged at Jacob's waistband and Jacob held his hands up and out to the side. Devante went for it; he popped the button and then groaned when he saw the rest was buttons too, not a zipper. "Okay, you are so much trouble sometimes, come here." He pulled, and Jacob went and Devante dumped him on the bed and pushed him down again when he tried to get up.

"I was just going to help," he said, but he let Devante bend over him and work open the buttons one at a time. His breath was coming hard, like they'd been doing something more than all this buildup. Devante got him loose from his jeans, and it felt so weird to have another guy yank his pants off, good, exciting for some reason he wasn't expecting. He was so obviously hard in his underwear, he just splayed his legs out and flaunted it. Devante looked down at him, licked his lips and cupped his own erection through his pants. "Catch up," Jacob said firmly. 

"Oh, I'm there, Jake, I am there." Devante slipped out of his jeans and it was like he was looming over Jacob, and the anticipation of that big body on top of him, it was so good. 

"Can you," he struggled up on his elbows, wanting to not be flat on his back when he said this, "I like it if you, um, take the edge off, because I can—I can get it up again."

"Oh, yeah?" Devante said. "Recovery time of a teenager, body of a man?"

"Hey, you're not that old, come on, get down here."

"I get it," he said, but he didn't move, just rubbed his leg against Jacob's. "The way to make you talk is to make you wait for it."

Jacob grinned at him, because no way was he losing this battle. He flopped back down and shoved his hand under the waistband and started jerking himself, not too hard, he didn't want to go off right away, but it felt good and he knew Devante was watching him, so he groaned out loud, real, not fake. 

Devante growled at him, and grabbed his wrist and stopped him. He was strong enough, he could have won it if it was a fight, but Jacob wasn't going to fight him because Devante was on top of him, touching and kissing him while Jacob wrapped his arms around him. "You feel so good," he said, and bucked up to remind Devante what needed attention. 

Devante moved off him a little, and Jacob took the hint and lifted his hips and shimmied out of his underwear. Devante put his hand around Jacob's cock, and he groaned aloud, told him how good it was, how perfect. Devante seemed to like him talking, he laid off kissing him and went for his neck instead. It didn't take long for him to come, heart pounding and the muscles in his legs clenching. 

Devante found some tissues to clean up, and Jacob let himself enjoy how he felt for a few seconds. "What do you like?" he said, amused at how drowsy his voice sounded. He wasn't ready for sleep at all. 

"You," Devante said. Which was cheesy, but Jacob still liked it. He stretched, enjoying the feel of his muscles, not tired, but loose and soft, like he could just lie there; he was tempted, so very tempted to ask Devante to fuck him. He'd never done it, not really, and he wanted to, wanted to see if was as good as fingers, if it was better, but he just couldn't get the nerve. He was supposed to be the big guy, tough enough for the NHL, but he thought that was too much. He didn't know if Devante even had stuff, so he kept quiet, kept it a fantasy. 

He bit his lip and looked up at Devante who was still standing, casually cupping himself, and he'd dropped his underwear when Jacob wasn't paying attention. He saw the fire catch in his eyes, so he did it again, let his teeth sink into his lip. "I can suck you if you want," he said, and Devante dropped down to the bed and crawled over him until he was looming over him, and Jacob took total advantage to feel up his legs, his glutes. "You should get on your side," he told him, and he was a little surprised when Devante did it without question. 

He'd had a friend in Sweden who'd been very into having everything be fair, and he'd liked to do sixty-nine. Jacob didn't care so much about fair; he was more into fun, but he'd liked it. He flipped over and nudged Devante's leg until he raised it up, foot flat on the bed, and he had all the access he wanted. He used his hand and his mouth until he really got going, and then he hooked his arm around Devante, holding him tight, using the leverage to push him deeper into his mouth. He'd done this a lot, liked it, but he missed seeing Devante's face, his eyes, he wanted to know what he looked like when he came. 

It didn't take long for him to get it up again, or for Devante to notice. "Oh, I see," he said, breathily and he started working on Jacob, sucking him down and he found things to do with his hand, playing with Jacob's balls, which drove him wild, and then teasing his ass a little, which was even better. 

He was groaning, whining around Devante's cock, and he wanted him to come already so he could really get into it, feel what Devante was doing. He felt bad thinking a thing so selfish, so he put his mind to making it really good, twisted his tongue around, sucked hard, tried to relax and get him deep. It was great until Devante slipped in a finger, not far since it was dry, but it was good, and he couldn't do it, couldn't feel that pleasure shooting through his body and concentrate on making Devante feel good. 

He gave in to selfishness, and let Devante do whatever he wanted. "Turn over," Devante told him, sharp like a demand on the ice for a pass, so he obeyed instantly, laughing at himself as he did it. Devante looked at him and grinned so fast it showed in his eyes last. "Yeah, just do as you're told, rookie," Devante said, and Jacob laughed harder. 

"Show me how it's done," he said, and Devante sat up and looked him over. 

"I've got lube, you up for it?"

"Um," Jacob said, worried, but he wanted to say yes, wanted to do what would make Devante happy. "Sure."

"Rookie," Devante said and shook his head, disappointed. "Do you even know how to say no? I just meant fingers. One or two if you like it. Do you like it?"

"I think I will, yes," Jacob said, and he felt the blush come, and he wanted to just hide. It was terrible. Rosy. He was nothing but Rosy. He closed his eyes and let the swing and sway of the bed tell him what Devante was doing. A slick finger slid into him and his whole body was screaming out the word yes. "Yes, yes, yes," he said, giving it voice. It was delicious. Better than vodka shots, better than the loudest pounding dance beat. It was better than anything you couldn't do on ice. 

"Oh, yeah, the rookie likes it," Devante said. 

It was all bright lights and joy, it was like the first time he'd ever been in a club where the darkness was pierced by shafts of light and the music made his heart pound. He didn't care anymore how flushed he was. He knew his cock had to be deep, deep pink, hard and aching and he wanted to come so bad, and he wanted to dance forever. "Kiss me," he said, imperiously, like _he_ was calling for the pass. "Kiss me," he said again, because he was the rookie, he had to really demand it. 

Devante gave him what he wanted, and he couldn't stop thinking about how he must look, he wanted to see himself, so vain he was, he wanted to know how he looked to Devante. He asked, deep in the beat of the thrusting pleasure from the centre of his body, he was brave enough to ask. "Do I look good?"

Devante laughed, and he opened his eyes to see it, angry with himself that he'd wasted the chance to see it grow into being on his face. "You look good enough to eat, Jake. You gonna come? You want to?"

He did, he wanted that a lot, more than anything. "You, you—but—"

"I got plans for me, Jake, just think about you, how that feels, how much you like it. Feel it with your whole body, how good that is, so good."

Devante talked him through it, never touching his cock, and he wanted to scream because he was so hard, full of so much want and so much amazing fucking goodness in his entire body. He felt full and empty, and he knew what he wanted, how much he wanted Devante to fuck him over and over, everyday forever. He wanted it so much. 

He arched up hard, feeling the pull in his hamstrings, feeling it in his back, his abs, everywhere, and he thought maybe his come might have hit the ceiling, it felt like that, like a fountain and a rocket. 

He was aware enough to feel the splash of come on his belly when Devante finished himself, and he laughed, almost losing it, it felt so good. He wanted that tattooed on his skin, that splash of come. He wanted it to burn into his flesh. He wanted to do it again and again. 

"Want," he said. 

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Devante said. He was nearby, was touching Jake, was kissing the side of his face. "Sleep, Jake. Sleep. Maybe when you wake up, I'll feed some of that wanting you got eating you up."

"You," Jake said. "Want _you_ to." 

He slept. He dreamed. He dreamed he had to prove himself, fight like on the ice, pushing and battling for space, but it was about Devante too, that he had to prove that he was good enough, that he wouldn't break his heart. He wasn't that kind of blond boy at all. He could prove it. Make the team. Not get sent down. Be good enough. Prove it to everyone. Go all the way.


End file.
